Lady Good-for-Nothing: A Man's Portrait of a Woman
Page 24
Chapter XI.
THE ESPIAL.
Ruth Josselin came down from the mountain to the stream-side, where, bya hickory bush under a knoll, her mare Madcap stood at tether.Slipping behind the bush--though no living soul was near to spy on her--she slid off her short skirt and indued a longer one more suitable forriding; rolled the discarded garment into a bundle which she strappedbehind the saddle; untethered the mare, and mounted.
At her feet the plain stretched for miles, carpeted for the most partwith short sweet turf and dotted in the distance with cattle, red in thesunlight that overlooked the mountain's shoulder. These were FarmerCordery's cattle, and they browsed within easy radius of a clump of elmsclustered about Sweetwater Farm. Some four miles beyond, on the faredge of the plain, a very similar clump of elms hid another farm,Natchett by name, in like manner outposted with cattle; and these werethe only habitations of men within the ring of the horizon.
The afternoon sun cast the shadow of the mountain far across this plain,almost to the confines of Sweetwater homestead. A breeze descended fromthe heights and played with Ruth's curls as she rested in saddle for amoment, scanning the prospect; a gentle breeze, easily out-galloped.Time, place, and the horse--all promised a perfect gallop; her ownspirits, too. For she had spent the day's hot hours in clambering amongthe slopes, battling with certain craggy doubts in her own mind; andwith the afternoon shadow had come peace at heart; and out of peace acertain careless exultation. She would test the mare's speed and enjoythis hour before returning to Tatty's chit-chat, the evening lamp, andthe office of family prayer with which Farmer Cordery duly dismissed hishousehold for the night.
She pricked Madcap down the slope, and at the foot of it launched her onthe gallop. Surely, unless it be that of sailing on a reach and in aboat that fairly heels to the breeze, there is no such motion to catchthe soul on high. The breeze met the wind of her flight and was beatenby it, but still she carried the moment of encounter with her as a waveon the crest of which she rode. It swept, lifted, rapt her out ofherself--yet in no bodiless ecstasy; for her blood pulsed in the beat ofthe mare's hoofs. To surrender to it was luxury, yet her hand on therein held her own will ready at call; and twice, where Sweetwater brookmeandered, she braced herself for the water-jump, judging the pace andthe stride; and twice, with many feet to spare, Madcap sailed over thesilver-grey riband.
All the while, ahead of her, the mountain lengthened its shadow.She overtook and passed it a couple of furlongs short of the homestead;passed it--so clearly defined it lay across the pasture--with a firmerhold on the rein, as though clearing an actual obstacle. . . . She wasin sunlight now. Before her a wooden fence protected the elms and theirenclosure. At the gate of it by rule she should have drawn rein.
She had never leapt a gate; had attempted a bank now and then, butnothing serious. Her success at the water-jumps tempted her; and themare, galloping with her second wind, seemed to feel the temptationevery whit as strongly.
In the instant of rising to it Ruth wondered what Farmer Cordery wouldsay if she broke his top bar. . . . The mare's feet touched it lightly--rap, rap. She was over.
A wood pile stood within the gate to the left, hiding the house. Shehad passed the corner of it before she could bring Madcap to astandstill, and was laughing to herself in triumph as she glancedaround.
Heavens!
The house was of timber, with a deep timbered verandah; and in theverandah, not twenty paces away, beside a table laid for coffee, stoodTatty with three ladies about her--three ladies all elegantly dressedand staring.
Ruth's hand went up quickly, involuntarily, to her dishevelled hair; andat the same moment the little lady, as though making a bolt fromcaptivity, stepped down from the verandah and came shuffling across theyard towards her, almost at a run.
"Ruth, dear!" she panted. "Oh, dear, dear! I am so glad you have come!"
"Why, what's the matter?" The girl, scenting danger, faced it.She swung herself down from the saddle-crutch, picked up her skirt, andtaking Madcap's rein close beside the curb, walked slowly up to theverandah. "Have they been bullying you, dear?" she asked in a low quietvoice.
"They have come all this way to see us--Lady Caroline Vyell, and MissDiana; yes, and Mrs. Captain Vyell--'Mrs. Harry,' as Dicky calls her.They have ferreted us out, somehow--and the questions they have beenasking! I think, dear--I really think--that in your place I should walkMadcap round to her stable and run indoors for a tidy-up before facingthem. A minute or two to prepare yourself--I can easily make yourexcuses."
"And a moment since you were calling me to come and deliver you!"answered Ruth, still advancing. "Present me, please."
Little Miss Quiney, turning and running ahead, stammered some words toLady Caroline, who paid no heed to them or to her but kept her eyeglasslifted and fixed upon Ruth. Miss Diana stood a pace behind her mother'sshoulder; Mrs. Harry, after a glance at the girl, turned and madepretence to busy herself with the coffee-table.
"So _you_ are the young woman!" ejaculated Lady Caroline.
"Am I?" said Ruth quietly, and after a profound curtsy turned sidewaysto the mare. "A lump of sugar, Tatty, if you please. . . . I thankyou, ma'am--" as Mrs. Harry, anticipating Miss Quiney, stepped forwardwith a piece held between the sugar-tongs. "And I think she evendeserves a second, for clearing the yard gate."
She fed the gentle creature and dismissed her. "Now trot around to yourstall and ask one of the boys to unsaddle you!" She stood for tenseconds, may be, watching as the mare with a fling of the head trottedoff obediently. Then she turned again and met Mrs. Harry's eyes with afrank smile.
"It is the truth," she said. "We cleared the gate. Come, please, andadmire--"
Mrs. Harry, in spite of herself, stepped down from the verandah andfollowed. The others stood as they were, planted in stiff disapproval.
The girl led Mrs. Harry to the corner of the wood pile. "Admire!" sherepeated, pointing with her riding-switch; and then, still keeping thegesture, she sank her voice and asked quickly, "Why are you here?You have a good face, not like the others. Tell me."
"Lady Caroline--" stammered Mrs. Harry, taken at unawares. "She has aright, naturally, to concern herself--"
"Does _he_ know?"
"Sir Oliver? No--I believe not. . . . You see, the Vyells are a greatfamily, and 'family' to them is a tremendous affair--a religion almost.Whatever touches one touches all; especially when that one happens to bethe head of his house."
"Is that how Captain Vyell--how your husband--feels it?--No, please keeplooking towards the gate. I mean no harm by these questions, and youwill not mind answering them, I hope? It gives me just a little morechance of fair play."
"To tell you the truth," said Mrs. Harry, pretending to study the jump,"I looked at you because I could not help it. You are anextraordinarily beautiful woman."
"Thank you," answered Ruth. "But about 'Captain Harry,' as we call him?I suppose he, as next of kin, is most concerned of all?"
"He did not tell me about you, if that is what you mean; or rather hetold me nothing until I questioned him. Then he owned that there wassuch a person, and that he had seen you. But he does not even know ofthis visit; he imagines that Lady Caroline is taking me for a pleasuretrip, just to view the country."
Ruth turned towards the house. "You will tell him, of course," she saidgravely, "when you return to the ship."
"I--I suppose I shall," confessed Mrs. Harry, and added, "There's onething. You may suppose that, as his wife, I am as much concerned asany--perhaps more than these others. But I don't want you to think thatI suggested hunting you up."
"I do not think anything of the sort. In fact I am sure you did not."
"Thank you."
Ruth had a mind to ask "Who, then, had brought them?" but refrained.She had guessed, and pretty surely.
"Well," she said with half a laugh, "you have been good and given metime to recover. It's heavy odds, you see, and--and I have not beentrained for it, exac
tly. But I feel better. Shall we go back and facethem?"
"One moment, again!" Mrs. Harry's kindly face hung out signals ofdistress. "It's heavy odds, as you say. Everything's against you.But the Lord knows I'm a well-meaning woman, and I'd hate to be unjust.If only I could be sure--if only you would tell me--"
Ruth stood still and faced her.
"Look in my eyes."
Mrs. Harry looked and was convinced. "But you love him," she murmured;"and he--"
"Ah, ma'am," said Ruth, "I answer you one question, and you would ask meanother!"